LITERATURE.

Globe, Volume IV, Issue 464, 9 December 1875, Page 3

LITERATURE.

LOST. ( Concluded.) How long the earthquake lasted, I cannot tell. I only know that when the last dread shock had ceased to make the ground vibrate beneath us, 1 found myself lying, unhurt, besides my moaning horse, which sobbed and cowered down like a terrified dog, and could with difficulty be induced to rise. The sinking sun threw a ruddy glare across the a u®a. A,r o / 4Tlatzlatpec still floated the darkling cloud o£ smoke. Springing to my saddle, and urging on my horse with voice and hand, I rode swiftly on towards the hacienda, eager to see and reassure its beloved inmates ; while, as I sped onwards, many a token such as uprooted trees, rocks overthrown, or springs that had newly gushed forth from_ the shaken earth-crust, proved over how wide a region the convulsion had run its course,. And then for the first time there stole into my mind a tenable thought. During my stay in the country no such earthquake had been known as that from which I had so narrowly escaped. How if the hacienda of Bio Seco had itself lain in the track of the heaving earth-wave that had strewn the district with ruin ! And as the very blood in my veins grew chill in presence of the formless fear thus conjured up, I forced on my reeking steed with whip and spur until his pace was a furious one. The swift gallop seemed to brace my nerves and to revive my drooping spirits. Once round yonder angle of rock, and I should be in sight of home. I rounded the jutting rock, and was now within the boundary of my own

small domain ; but, to my horror, I could see no trace of the fair white walls of the hacienda, its lofty shade-trees, or the blooming garden and the busy farmyard that had flanked it. Half incredulously I looked around me. Yes, there were the familiar landmarks—the towering cliffs, the mountain pass, the lagoon, the groves, and the bold summit of the volcano in the distance ; but house and gartlen and outbuildings were gone, as if they had been swept away by the spell of a magician. I set my teeth and spurred on ; but, before I had ridden far, my road was barred by a ghastly fissure that seamed the solid earth, the depth of which my eyes could not fathom, while its utmost width might have been some six or seven yards. This yawning chasm ran to left and right, and I had to follow its course for nearly half a mile, until it narrowed so much that I could venture to force my frightened horse to take the leap. A few minutes more—they seemed ages to me—and I had dismounted in the midst of a few irregularly shaped mounds and broken treetrunks, protruding from the ground, which marked the place where must have stood my house —the happy home which I had that morning left. I stood for awhile bewildered, as by some hideous dream; and when I contrived to speak, my own voice sounded harsh and strange to my ear. I called aloud upon my wife’s name; but there was no answer. Wife and children, home, and all that home held, living or inanimate, had been blotted from the face of the world at one fell swoop! The Destroyer had passed by, and the victims were hidden away for ever from the eyes of men. Slowly, very slowly, did I realise the full bitterness of the great calamity that had blighted all the promise of my remaining life. The wife I loved, the high-spirited, affectionate boys, of whom I was so fond and proud, the little daughter who had been so dear both to her mother aud myself ; it seemed hard and shocking, almost unnatural, that I should never see them more. They were gone for ever ; aud I, left alone in the world, stood above the grave that had swallowed them alive into its hungry depths, and could bring them no aid—was powerless to help—had help indeed been possible. From one heap of ruin to another I wandered, calling aloud on the dear, dear names, but my voice died away in the dull stillness of the sultry air. The sun was sinking westwards, in the gorgeous flame of many-coloured glory that accompanies his setting in those tropical latitudes, and well I knew that soon the stars would twinkle overhead, and the glorious southern night succeed to the fiery day. Ha ! what was that ? Surely a faint cry, such as the plaintive bleat of some stray lamb borne away by a snow-swollen torrent; and, crushed beneath the flower-laden branches of an uptorn magnolia-bush, I caught a glimpse of something white, a fragment of tattered muslin, and rushing to the spot, I drew forth from beneath the fallen shrubs, more dead than alive, a tiny, childish creature, with her sweet little face blanched by terror, and her golden curls banging dishevelled. But it was Marian—my one ewe lamb saved from the jaws of Death—my own darling child, and as I held the priceless treasure in my strong arms, and saw the blue eyes open with a glance of recognition, I knelt on the torn and upheaved ground, and gave thanks to (Jod for having spared her to me. It was but little that the innocent child could tell me of the horrible catastrophe in which all but herself had perished. Mamma, she said, had kissed her but a few minutes earlier than the first shock’s coming, and had left her, bidding her play in the garden, and keep watch for the return of 1 dear papa.’ And then came the darkness, and the hurling down of trees, and the crash, and the shrieking, and nothing more could Marian remember, until the moment when she found herself in my arms, aud was safe. And I have little more to tell, save how I returned to England with the one child left to me, and who has never since that day of dread been absent from me for more than a few hours—the light of my old eyes, into which tears often rise unbidden, as some gesture, some glance, reminds me of her lost mother, the uhforgotten love of my youth. How dear to me is Marian, none who have not gone through the anguish of a bereavement such as mine can tell; but 1 am not selfish, I hope, in my fondness, and shall doubtless’ ere long surrender my treasure to a husband worthy of her, even though there seems to remain nothing more for me to live for. J. Berwick Harwood.